


Take Each Day As It Will End

by SaltCore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt Jesse McCree, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Worried Hanzo Shimada, min hurt/max comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltCore/pseuds/SaltCore
Summary: In the aftermath, there is comfort, there is communion.





	Take Each Day As It Will End

Hanzo’s fingers run a circuit up and down the edge of the medical tape on Jesse’s shoulder. It doesn’t hurt precisely, but the proximity of Hanzo’s fingers to the road rash under the dressing makes him aware, again, of the road rash, which definitely still stings. Lucio did the best job he could, but a less than graceful exit from a moving car being what it is, Jesse still aches all over.

It’s been a long time since Jesse’s had a run in with bounty hunters. It’s been even longer since he’s been stuffed into a trunk and carted off. He’s not sure if it’s lucky or not that it happened now, working as he is with Overwatch. On the one hand, he didn’t get very far before his team caught up with him. On the other, on his own he’d never have been in a position to get caught.

The real luck might have been in him still remembering how to roll out of the trunk of a moving car without killing himself. His guts clench with the memory of pavement racing underneath him, but in that split second he’d weighed his options and the pavement came up safer, so out he went. It still hurt like hell, and he’s not sure he didn’t blackout for an instant, but when he stopped rolling he had the overcast dome of the sky above him, instead of the rough carpet of a trunk, and it was fucking beautiful in comparison.

Now he’s looking up at a water stained safehouse ceiling, which, because of the fucked up life Jesse leads, is a further improvement. He’s alive and hidden and that’s about as much as he’d ever braved asking for. Even if he currently feels like roadkill, this still doesn’t crack the top ten worst ways he’s ended a day.

Hanzo starts another pass over the tape, but this time his fingers trail over something that does hurt, and Jesse grunts and rolls his shoulder away. Hanzo snatches his hand away with a sharp inhale, like a child caught touching something he shouldn’t. Jesse wonders if Hanzo realized he was still awake.

Hanzo’s fingers return, this time lighting on an uninjured patch of skin. Maybe Jesse’s just imagining it, but there seems to be something apologetic in the small circles he traces there. Jesse twists to face him. The only light is what’s filtering in from the streetlights outside, but Jesse can still see the fragile, focused look Hanzo is wearing.

Jesse’s not sure what to say, if he _should_ say something, if he _wants_ to say anything at all. He’s tired and he hurts and he just wants to sleep. But he meets Hanzo’s wide eyes, sees something brittle in them, and he can’t help but want to soothe.

“Hey,” Jesse murmurs. His voice sounds thick to his own ears. Hanzo only grunts in answer.

For moment there is only silence and Hanzo’s intense gaze, but then Hanzo begins to get up, moving with a measured deliberation and never breaking eye contact. He eases out of the space beside Jesse and slips into a crouch over his hips. Jesse opens his mouth to tell him _no_ , that he’s just not up for sex right now, but the look on Hanzo’s face stops him. It isn’t any kind of desire or arousal, but something much more delicate. Hanzo leans forward, hovering over Jesse but resting no part of his weight on him. His forearms come to rest on either side of Jesse’s head, and his hair falls in a dark curtain around them.

It was only a few hours ago that Jesse was looking up at Hanzo in much the same way. Hanzo had eclipsed the gray sky, his face bloodless and tight with fear. Jesse could only gape up at him then, still stunned. Now, he’s only a little better, his tongue thick and useless in his mouth, staring back.

There, lying on the pavement, he’d watched Hanzo’s fear melt into fury. Jesse has a very clear memory of those creatures living his lover’s skin tearing the car and its occupants apart. The fury had stayed, from the wait for the others through the ride back to the safehouse in the van. Hanzo had worn a black look that screamed _murder_ up until just now, actually.

Lucio had, rightly, dominated Jesse’s time, trying to make sure he wasn’t going to keel over in front of them, and by the time he was sure Jesse wasn't going to die, all Jesse wanted to do was sleep. Hanzo, still visibly furious, had followed him to bed. But now that anger has ebbed into something very like fear, and that’s a strange thing on Hanzo.

“What's goin’ on in there?” Jesse asks, reaching up to tap a forefinger on Hanzo’s temple.

The only explanation Hanzo gives is a feather light brush of lips to a scratch over Jesse’s eye. Another to his bruised temple. A third to the split in his lip. Hanzo acknowledges each hurt with the barest pressure, slow and careful, then returns to Jesse’s mouth. Hanzo kisses him like Jesse is something fragile. The sheet under Jesse’s back moves as Hanzo fists his hands into it, as if he’s displacing his intensity into something inanimate.

Jesse reaches up, rubs his hands over Hanzo’s flanks as much as he can. The skin under his hands is familiar, and that familiarity is comforting. The idea of more still holds little appeal, but this attention Jesse doesn’t mind. It’s certainly preferable to Hanzo’s indiscriminate anger.

Hanzo nips at Jesse’s lip, catches the cut with his teeth, and an involuntary flinch on Jesse’s part separates them. Hanzo retreats immediately, pulling away until he’s sitting upright, weight resting on his heels. Jesse lets his hands fall to Hanzo’s knees, the only part of him he can touch without moving. Jesse catches Hanzo’s eyes, arcing his eyebrows in question.

“That ain’t an answer, darlin’.”

“You were so still,” Hanzo rasps, voice barely even loud enough to call a whisper. His lips vanish in to a thin line, and a rattly exhale hisses out of his nose. Tension, obvious even in the dim light, starts at his neck and creeps down his arms until it fists his hands on the top of his thighs. “I thought—” Jesse watches a tremor shake its way through Hanzo. “You must be more careful going forward.”

Jesse huffs, in spite of himself.

“I don’t _try_ for this kind of shit, jus’ so we’re clear.”

Hanzo’s head tilts to the side, and if were anyone else, Jesse would call that look watery. Hanzo reaches out, and curls on hand over Jesse’s cheek.

“I know. But still.”

Jesse presses his hand over Hanzo’s. Lifts his other to pull him close, damn his injuries. The comfort of his lover’s closeness more than makes up for it.

“All right. Just ‘cause you asked so sweet.”


End file.
